Back To The Start
by Supernatural-idjit-95
Summary: Dean & Castiel must face the reality that the Mark of Cain could tear them apart. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence, major character death, sad romance, kissing, mentions of torture & blood, *TRIGGER WARNING* UPDATE I'M WORKING ON THE SEQUEL! I'm writing another fic too, because inspiration struck me and I need a balance in my writing. Plz be patient w/ me!:)
1. Nobody Said It Was Easy

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been sober. It'd been a rough ride lately, after all. Hell, it was always a rough ride for a Winchester.

Especially for the people closest to them.

Dean stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom.

He was in the bunker, he was home. He'd found that lately, he was having to remind himself of that more and more; that he was home, and he was safe. For now.

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He saw his disheveled, unshaven, and drunk-yes, definitely still drunk-self staring back at him. He drew in a deep breath.

"Well, shit...I look like a million bucks," he said, letting his burning lungs exhale.

He didn't know what time it was. It was definitely late, but he didn't care to check. Time hadn't mattered to him much lately.

The eldest Winchester gazed down at his arm. The Mark of Cain.

What a prize it was, right? The insanity it gave him, the adrenaline, the urges...the blood it craved-no, the blood it made _him_ crave.

What a bargain. The best art of the deal was, the god-damned thing wouldn't leave well enough alone.

Dean dared for a moment once more to make eye contact with himself.

The god-forsaken mirror that shone his reflection back at him like a slap in the face was only taunting him.

Sam had run off for the next day or so, rambling on about a witch he was meeting with who might be able to help them with the Mark.

He hung his head, and clung to the bathroom sink with both hands.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Castiel sat at the diner that lay only half an hour away from the Winchesters' bunker.

He had been perched in a booth for nearly an hour, alone with his thoughts, for the most part.

The diner was nearly empty, exempt from a few truck drivers stopping in for a few cups of coffee and the high hopes of a one-night-stand with the cute waitress that worked the night shift.

Cas envied the humans surrounding him inside the tiny diner. Although few in numbers, they were certainly carefree.

It was just past 2 A.M. The Angel hoped his friend-no, his best friend-was sound asleep, because God knows he needed it. Cas had been searching a way, day and night, to free Dean of the Mark.

No such give.

It was only today that he realized the time he had with the eldest Winchester wasn't much, if he didn't do something, and fast. It was his fault, anyhow...right?

There were so many scenarios he kept playing over and over in his head, thinking of all the things he could have done differently, all of the evil that came to play because of him. Leviathan. The Angels.

Yes, it was definitely his fault. It just had to be.

Cas had received a call earlier that day from Sam, he was telling him about a witch on the East Coast he'd been speaking with.

He sounded hopeful, talking about how the witch may be able to help them with the Mark of Cain. Cas had tuned him out on the details, though...he didn't trust witches.

All he heard was that no one would be there with Dean at the bunker, and that Sam needed him to look in on him.

Cas felt as though he couldn't rely on Sam anymore. Of course he trusted him, but when it came to Dean...Sam was reckless. Then again, so was he.

He adjusted his hands around the warm mug of coffee that he had no gain in drinking. It was comforting though, and he could finally understand its appeal to humans.

It was time to go, to check on Dean. He half suspected he wouldn't even be at the bunker anymore...that he'd bolt mysteriously and go haywire, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Worst case scenario, right?

Cas tossed a couple of crumpled dollar bills down on the table. Scooting out of the booth, he pulled his trench coat tighter around him, fixing the collar of the coat and adjusting his tie just the way Dean usually did. He began to memorize the way he did that, and he wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since Dean had done it for him.

* * *

Dean was laying on top of his bed when he heard the bunker door squeal open. He rolled his eyes in protest.

He wasn't necessarily doing anything of importance to have been disturbed, besides clenching and unclench his fists repeatedly-just because it was something to keep his mind in the moment.

He sat up and rolled his neck from side to side, finally deciding to stand and make his way to the main room in the bunker to confront whatever interruption had just let itself in.

"Sam, I swear to God if you're gonna try to shove more of that damn rabbit food down my throat..."

His voice trailed off as he saw Castiel making his way down the staircase, box in hand.

"...Hey, I thought you were Sam." Dean said, turning the other direction and heading to the kitchen.

There was a beer in the refrigerator with his name on it. Dean heard Cas's footsteps hit the landing behind him.

"Hello Dean, how are you feeling?" Cas asked him. He knew how Dean was, but the formality was the proper way to start a conversation about one's' well being, as he'd learned.

Dean stood in front of the refrigerator, beer in hand, leaving the door open just a second longer to feel the cool air hit his face. It refreshed him momentarily, and just long enough. He shut the door, taking a gulp of his beer while turning to face the Angel.

"I'm good, Cas. Hangin' in there, ya know?" He responded, walking towards the counter where Cas had placed the box he came in with.

Peering into the clear plastic top on the box, Dean saw Castiel had delivered. It was a pie.

Dean let out a grunt. He could feel that Cas hadn't taken his eyes off of him.

"I brought you pie, Dean...I thought since you hadn't been eating much of anything lately, well..." Castiel gestured to the box tiredly.

"I thought perhaps it would boost your appetite. Or spirits, or both."

Cas watched Dean carefully as he stared at the box. He only stared for a moment, and in a moment of Castiel's high hopes, he thought Dean would open it up and eat some. As he said, at least it would have been something.

"I ate already, thanks though," Dean sauntered away from the pie and to a chair at the table in the kitchen.

"Ya know, you really didn't need to come check on me. I'm sure Sammy asked you to and all, but I can handle myself. I am a grown up, ya know."

Dean took another gulp of his beer, this one seemed meaningful.

Cas took a few steps toward Dean.

"I know you are capable Dean, by it never hurts to have a friend," Finally, Dean made eye contact with him.

Cas dared to take a seat across from Dean at the table.

"Besides, there is no place with more resources that I know of to look for answers right now." He fumbled with his tie for a moment, waiting for Dean to respond.

God, he looked tired, Cas thought. If only he could make this right.

He folded his hands on the table. "How are you, really, Dean?" Castiel attempted to hold Dean's gaze for more than a moment, but failed.

All he could do was look at the Mark on Dean's arm. Dean only looked back down at the bottle in his hands that was constantly recapturing his attention.

Dean shook his head. "I'm ok, really. But thanks for the...ya know. Effort, I guess."

Cas lowered his head in...desperation? Was that what Dean was seeing? He knew he was acting like a jerk. Cas didn't have to be there, after all.

He could be leading the Angels, bringing revolution to the Heavens, for fuck's sake. But no, instead the Angel was here, with him.

The abomination with the Mark who people called Dean. He knew he was only trying to help.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, then stared back down at the visibly stressed, humanoid of an Angel sitting at his kitchen table.

"Hey, if you want a place to crash for the night...mi casa, su casa...or however the hell you say that."

Gaining Castiel's attention, he raised his head to meet Dean's eyes.

"I believe I will. Not crash, I mean. Just...I need to regroup my thoughts, is all. Thank you." Cas replied.

Dean nodded to his friend, but all while turning on his heels to head back to his bedroom. He was trying to rid himself of all distractions.

"Don't you catch feelings now, you son of a bitch." Dean said to himself, taking a swig of his beer while he closed his bedroom door behind him.

* * *

Castiel sat in the armchair in the library as the sun came up.

He wondered if Dean had even slept yet, but doubted it. Every once in awhile, he would hear the refrigerator door open, followed by the crack of a beer opening. He noted hearing Dean open a bottle of water at one point, which made him smile. At least it wasn't alcohol.

Book upon book lay open, disheveled on the floor in front of him.

There was just no clear answer. Cas rested his chin on his fist. Why was he so worried? Why did he need so badly to "fix" Dean? After all, in the grand scheme of things Dean was just the blip on the radar that stopped the apocalypse from taking place.

But Cas didn't think of him that way.

The Angel smiled, recalling the first time Dean had openly considered him a part of the "team".

"' _Team Free Will'. One ex-blood junkie, one drop-out with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there.'_ " He let out an unexpected chuckle from the memory, knowing he had been the "Mr. Comatose" Dean had referred to.

Although he certainly had been, he'd retained what Dean had said...and it meant the world to him.

Shaking himself out of the memory, he rubbed his temples with his middle fingers. He'd seen many people do this when under stress, and thought it might help.

But it didn't. If only he could start over. He could save Dean, mend his pain, and his suffering. If he could, he would take it all upon himself. If only that were possible.

Suddenly, Cas heard what sounded like glass breaking from Dean's bedroom. He ran heavy steps to Dean's door, trying the door knob with no luck.

"Dean?!" Cas banged on the door. Another crash sounded from behind the door. Was that a lamp? He backed up raising his leg, ready to take a powerful aim at the door that was keeping him from helping Dean.

As he did so, the door knob turned, just in time.

* * *

Dean stood in front of Castiel. His black t-shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, and a gaze in his eyes with a life of it's own.

Breathing heavily from creating the mess of broken glass and furniture that lay just behind him, Dean ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, what's up?" He asked Cas casually. He was trying to keep his cool.

Cas stepped forward to Dean cautiously.

"Are you...is everything...what happened in here?" Cas took in the carnage that was Dean's bedroom.

Dean shrugged. "I, uh..." Dean trailed off, trying to think of a good explanation for the angry fit he'd just thrown, but couldn't.

"...fuck. It's hard, Cas."

Dean voice broke, hands moving to cover his face as he was backing away from the doorway, lowering himself to sit on his bed. It was covered with shards of splintered wood and broken glass, but he obviously didn't care.

Cas approached him slowly.

"Dean...I know." Was all he could get out before he realized he was seeing Dean Winchester cry. Cas sat next to him, unsure what to do, unsure of how to comfort him.

He placed a hand on his shoulder as Dean lowered his hands.

"Dean, you know I'm looking. We all are. We will get through this, I _know_ we will. It will just take a bit more time..." Cas said, unsure of what he was trying to say.

He didn't have any answers. Hell, Sam didn't either.

Dean attempted to gather himself.

"No, Cas. I don't-I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel on this one. I just don't." He shook his head.

Cas tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder. There was no way in hell he was going to let Dean give up on this. Not now.

"Dean, you have to fight it. The Mark, your anger- _you have to control it!_ For Sam, for me! We'll find a way, _we always do!_ "

Sensing the emotion in the Angel's voice, Dean turned to face him.

What a fucking idiot he'd been.

The way he'd treated him lately, the way he had treated the only person besides Sam who gave a damn about him. He felt ashamed.

He was so ashamed that he felt angry, and that was the last thing Dean wanted to feel, especially around Cas.

He was constantly worrying that he'd lose control of the Mark and hurt someone.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Cas, I-I'm sorry. I'm just not in the right mind to have you here..." Dean wasn't sure where he was going with this.

He cleared his throat and started over.

"Cas, I'm not doin' too great. I can't control it anymore," He gestured to the mess of broken furniture that littered his bedroom. "Okay? I-I need some space."

Castiel's brave facade fell as Dean shrugged his hand off of his shoulder, standing from his bed.

"Cas, I'm angry. This Mark, it's not goin' anywhere. There is _no way_ outta this."

"Dean, that's not true-" Cas started to speak, but Dean cut him off.

" _ **I don't wanna hear it, Cas!**_ " He yelled, startling Castiel as he watched him grow more agitated.

"I want you to go. _I don't want you here right now!_ " Dean barmed out, much harsher than he'd meant it.

Dean stared down at Cas, his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the Angel to stand.

Cas only folded his hands in his lap and straightened his posture. He wasn't going anywhere. He was here to help Dean, even if he didn't want it.

"I'm _not_ leaving you alone, Dean." Cas stated matter-of-factly.

The anger in Dean's eyes grew as he realized Cas was protesting his demands for him to leave. He didn't want his help, or to be coddled by anyone.

Why the hell couldn't the Angel leave him the hell alone?! That was all he wanted. To be alone.

"No, you're not gettin' it man. _ **I wanna be alone!**_ " Dean was screaming at him now. Cas only sat watching him, which made it worse for Dean.

" _I don't need **you** , I don't need **anyone**!_ " Dean yelled again.

Suddenly, his head started pounding like someone was using it as a drum.

The Mark on his arm felt like it was burning with need.

Dean grabbed his head with both hands, wincing in pain.

He swore he felt his skin crawling, blood coursing through his veins at a relentless pace.

Dean drew a quick breath. He knew he had to ground himself before he lost it completely. He could feel everything. Every cell in his body was aching with rage.

" _No no no. Don't lose it Dean_ " Dean thought to himself.

It had only been all but 10 seconds since the pounding in his head had begun, but it felt like an hour.

Dean was trying to talk himself through the Mark's fury in his head: _"I've got this...I've got this...Breathe...Count to ten..."_

He started to count to ten. That was what Sammy taught him to do if he felt like he was losing control of the Mark.

" _...One...Two...Three...Four…_ "

Dean was still holding onto his throbbing head, hunched over now in a trance-like state.

Cas was shaking his shoulders and yelling his name, trying to break the Mark's hold on him.

" _...Five...Six...Seven…_ "

Pain. All he felt was pain and anger.

Cas yelled at him, but he couldn't focus on anything but counting.

" _...Eight...Nine...Ten…_ "

Still wincing in pain, through his lashes he could see Castiel's face in front of his.

Cas raised his voice.

"Pull it together, Dean!" Dean could hear him now, the pain in his head and arm residing just barely.

Finally making eye contact with Cas, he nodded an acknowledgment that he was here with him in the moment.

Cas moved his hands from Dean's face to his shoulders. He wasn't sure how that was helping...maybe it was making things worse.

All he knew was that it made him feel better. It comforted him by holding onto Dean, because he knew at least he couldn't run away.

Dean suddenly backed away, and angrily shook off the hold that Cas had on him.

Cas put his hands up. "Dean...I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help." He said hopelessly.

"Are you in pain?"

Instead of replying, he only stood there, eyes fixated on his feet looking confused. He was still attempting to regain control of his renegade breathing and pounding heartbeat.

"Cas," Dean started, coughing a bit as if to make himself seem more aware of his surroundings.

"You need to leave right now..." He spoke the words softly but dangerously. His green eyes piercing Castiel's, who's feet were still glued to the floor-he didn't want to leave Dean alone.

 _"What in the hell do I have to do, Cas?!_ " Dean took a step towards him.

"Do I have throw freakin' rocks at ya?! _Do I need to spell it out?! **Get out!**_ " His words echoed throughout the bunker like a gunshot.

Dean had absentmindedly taken hold of the baseball bat that he had earlier hurdled at the opposite wall of his bedroom.

Cas only blinked. "Okay, Dean," His voice was shaky with anxiousness.

With his hands raised, facing Dean the way you would face a Mountain Lion, he started slowly towards the bedroom door.

He was defeated.

Dean only realized he was holding the baseball bat when he noticed that Cas was staring at it as he backed his way out of his bedroom.

He dropped it to the ground, and looked at his friend with guilt in his eyes. What the hell had he done?

"Cas..." Dean started, but Cas had turned his back on him after he noted that the baseball bat was no longer a threat to him.

He wanted to say he was sorry; hell, he wanted to say _anothing_ that would fix what he'd just done.

Cas was the only person in the world besides his brother that Dean gave a single fuck about, and he knew that. Whether or not he did before, as he was watching him walk away, he knew now.

Dean also knew that the god-awful pounding in his head had returned, and the Mark was craving fulfillment.

* * *

Castiel was walking down the corridor slowly, almost in a daze. Dean wanted him gone, he didn't want his help. He didn't want to be saved.

He hung his head, stopping momentarily to brace himself against the cold wall with one hand.

Why did Dean Winchester always refuse to be saved? Cas could see his worth. The need the world had for both of the Winchesters was well known in Heaven; no other Angel but Castiel would admit it, though.

He closed his eyes, his face contorting as if he were in pain. He was in pain.

The Mark of Cain was going to take Dean Winchester away from him.

That was the last thing Cas thought before he felt the excruciating pain of a blow to the back of his head, and fell to the ground unconscious.

Chest heaving and out of breath, Dean stood over him holding The First Blade.


	2. It's Such A Shame For Us To Part

Castiel awoke slowly to the throbbing pain he felt. Was the pain everywhere? He couldn't tell. But that was all he could think about.

He willed himself to open his eyes, his vision blurred by his dimly lit surroundings.

He noted the smell. He could smell steel, metal. He wasn't certain at the moment, the sharp and dull pains clouding all his senses.

As his eyes adjusted, he could tell where he was...but it made no sense.

He was in the dungeon in the bunker. Surely, there was something divine at the end of this. Perhaps he and Dean were attacked by surprise?

Cas tried to bring his hands to his head to numb the pain, with no luck. His hands were cuffed to the cold metal chair he was sitting in. He remembered that this same chair held the King of Hell at one point, and wondered what force could have put him there.

"Dean?" He called, his voice was hoarse as if he'd been screaming. If he had, he didn't remember.

All corners of the room were dark. He knew it was most likely daylight, as he could remember the sun rising while he sat in the library earlier that morning.

His pulse quickened, remembering his confrontation with Dean. He had destroyed his bedroom, screamed at him to leave when he had tried to help him.

He could tell that Dean had been losing his "ground", so to speak. He couldn't tell if the Mark was driving him mad, or if it was bringing something entirely new out of Dean that he, nor Sam, had never seen before. Maybe it was both.

Cas attempted to writhe his hands free from the spelled cuffs on the chair he was currently confined in. It did no good, but at least he could say he tried.

Damn it, he was tired. His head throbbed still, relentlessly, and the Angel wondered what in God's name hit him. More importantly, he was wondering WHO had hit him...but honestly, there was just no telling in their line of work anymore.

Castiel groaned. "This can't be good," he mumbled to himself.

Just as he let out a struggled sigh, Castiel could hear the faint sound of footsteps treading down the corridor outside of the dungeon that held him.

"Hello?!" Cas cried out. He decided it was probably better to face whomever was holding him captive sooner rather than later. He needed to know where Dean was, and if he was okay.

He needed Dean to be okay.

"Who's there?!" He yelled again, this time in frustration. The Angel had other things to do besides playing games with a bully.

He heard the door outside the barricading shelves creak open, and he could finally make out a figure on the other side.

The door slammed shut, and there was a brief pause by the figure, and Cas wondered if this person would even speak at all.

He narrowed his eyes, squinting, trying to make out the form approaching him.

"Tell me who you are!" He yelled, but the unseen assailant took his time closing the space between them.

"How's your head?" Came Dean's voice from the other side. Castiel's face fell in confusion as he watched Dean's outline pull aside the shelves and bookcases that separated the dungeon from the doorway to the corridor.

Dean cleared his throat.

"And man...you're gettin' rusty, pal. You never even saw me comin'!" Dean laughed.

Castiel shook his head in disbelief. Dean had attacked him? He couldn't fathom it.

"Dean...are you alright?" Castiel asked, hoping for an explanation.

Dean was walking closer to Cas, and he could just barely make out his face. '*Thank God, he seems to be alright*,' Cas thought to himself.

"I'm fine, Cas. But _you_...you look shit!" Dean chuckled, walking even further into the dim light the solitary light bulb overhead provided.

Castiel hesitated. "You did this, Dean?" He asked.

He needed to know that his gut instinct was not wrong for telling him to be afraid of Dean in this very moment.

"You put me here?"

Dean was standing in front of him now, peering down at him the same way a predator would at its prey.

"Well, I sorta thought that was what I was implying," Dean smirked.

Castiel's stomach turned, wrenched with anxiety.

 _'This can't be happening_ ,' He thought.

Dean had finally snapped.

Dean eyes pierced Cas, still holding the smirk he had found when the Angel realized he had absolutely lost it.

Cas's face was solid. He was trying so hard to fake his resolve. Dean was his weakness, and he had no good poker face to use against him.

"Dean..." Cas started, simply staring at the dirty concrete floor beneath his feet.

"... ** _Why_**?" He asked.

Dean sighed a big, easy sigh.

"Cas, this is me tellin' you to stop, damnit," Dean said.

"This..." He pointed to the chair Cas was in, "...is completely unnecessary, don't you think?"

He put both hands on his own knees and bent forward, addressing Cas as if he were a child.

Castiel met his eyes.

"Yes! This is ridiculous, Dean. I-I was leaving, I was going to give you some time. The Mark-it's doing something to you...just _uncuff me and let me help you!_ " He exclaimed, his frustration breaking his resolve further.

Dean straightened back up.

"See, I know that deep down inside...you weren't gonna leave. You were gonna sulk in the freakin' library until I cooled down..." Dean said, shaking his head at Cas.

"...and then you were gonna try, try again. Try and **_fix me_** , right? Isn't that what its always about?" Dean questioned him, but Castiel's eyes only found the floor again.

Dean was definitely under the Mark's influence, but he was right. Cas never planned on leaving the bunker.

"Dean, I-" Cas started, but Dean cut him off angrily.

" _No, Cas!_ I'm done. Alright?!" His voice bellowed, out shaking the room as if an avalanche were hurdling upon them.

Cas glanced up at Dean. He still wore the wrinkled black t-shirt he had been in earlier, his hair still a mess, and his eyes...they just didn't seem like Dean's eyes.

They were still the wondrous emerald color Castiel had instantly admired the moment he had first met him in human form.

He recalled the shed, or barn, whatever it was he toppled on top when Dean and Bobby had first summoned him. He remembered how much he admired the strength in Deans eyes, and how he challenged him when Castiel revealed his identity as an Angel of the Lord.

He had to try.

"Dean..." Cas said quietly, "I know you're tired. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you. The Mark's hold on you is strong...," Cas decided to say only that much for now. He had no idea where Dean was at emotionally (besides "snapped").

"I know Cas, and I don't wanna fuckin' fight it anymore..." Dean said, as if his words bore no weight.

"I want you to let me go. I want you to let me handle this, 'cause...hell," Dean paused, and put one hand behind his back, reaching for something.

"My life's never been easier, Cas!" Dean revealed his hand, yielding the First Blade.

 _'No. He couldn't possibly have that. Sam took it, didn't he?_ ' Cas thought when he saw the Blade. It didn't matter now.

Dean held it in front of him like a trophy, gazing at it with admiration.

"Cas, I don't feel much of anything anymore," Dean said casually. "And I don't fuckin' want to. I'm opting out," Dean stepped forward and put a hand on Cas's shoulder, still holding the First Blade.

"You know you can't fix me. You've known it all along...and if want, I can help you."

As Deans last sentence rolled off his tongue, Cas stared at him. This was not the Dean he knew.

"What do you mean, Dean? How can you help me?" Cas asked, struggling to make sense of all of this. He could barely catch his breath, his heart racing, feeling like a trapped rat.

Dean kept his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and smiled at him. There was so much anger in Dean's eyes Cas could almost taste it.

"I'm gonna leave, and you're not gonna stop me Cas. That's how I'm gonna help you...you care _way too damn much_ , my friend," Dean said.

Cas took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say. He knew he couldn't give Dean what he wanted. He could never let Dean leave. They could find a way to remove the Mark, they could fix this...

"Dean, I-I-" Cas was stuttering, unsure of himself. "-I can't do that."

Dean withdrew his hand from his shoulder, and Castiel dared catch his empty eyes. Dean ran his fingers through his tousled hair and sighed.

"Wrong answer."

Cas felt the blow of Deans fist on his left cheek, momentarily causing him to lose his bearings.

He cried out in pain, tasting his own blood in his mouth. Dean withdrew his fist after the punch he'd just landed.

"Change of heart now, Cas? Are ya gonna let me go?" Dean asked, now pacing in circles around him angrily.

"No, Dean..." Cas said carefully, spitting the blood out of his mouth and onto the floor.

"...I care about you. Sam and I... _need you._ " He could barely breathe his words to life.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His knuckles were white around the First Blade, and his jaw was clenched rage.

He let out an exasperated cry of frustration.

"Why the hell do you care, Cas?! _You don't need me!_ Sammy sure as hell doesn't need me, so _WHY_ -"

Dean punched Cas again in the face, drawing more crimson blood and another painful cry from him.

 _"-DO YOU_ -"

 _ **PUNCH**_. More blood. More pain.

"- _KEEP TRYING?!"_

 _ **PUNCH.**_

Dean pulled away, pausing the brutal beating he was giving to his friend. His breath was heavy, but he wasn't sorry; He was only angry.

Castiel's nose and eyes were swelling. The blood from his face that Dean had just drawn covered him. He closed his eyes.

 _'Wait it out... he'll come to his senses. He'll stop._ ' Cas thought to himself.

Dean resumed his restless pace around Castiel. He methodically cracked his knuckles that wore Castiel's blood, then began tossing the First Blade between them.

"What're you thinkin'?" Dean asked in a low growl. "You gonna 'leave well enough alone', so they say?"

Cas didn't answer. He wouldn't give in to Dean's tactics, he wouldn't give him, or what he was now, that satisfaction.

After several moments passed by, Dean stopped pacing just in front of Cas.

By the tension in the air, he could tell that Dean didn't like the silent treatment.

He eyed Castiel, his hands still cuffed, and only staring at the floor expressionless.

"Ya know feathers, I never took you for the passive aggressive type..." Dean cocked his head, still waiting for a response.

Holding his ground, Cas still said nothing.

"...that 'quiet game' crap ain't workin' on me." Dean said, a new tone in his voice.

As if the crazed man had suddenly had a change of heart, Dean began to walk away towards the door.

Cas breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

 _"Maybe it's over...please let this be over. This isn't Dean_." Cas thought.

As if Dean had heard his very thoughts, he stopped suddenly, back turned to Cas.

"I bet you're thinkin' this is over," Dean taunted over his shoulder, turning back to face him. He had a grin on his face that Cas didn't recognize.

"It's not." Dean gripped the blade in his hand until his arm trembled.

Castiel finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes.

They held each other's gazes for a few seconds, but it didn't last long before Dean rolled his eyes in boredom.

"I'm done fuckin' around, Cas," He sauntered toward his friend, who had returned his eyes to the ground beneath them.

"It's over." Dean held out the First Blade.

Just as Cas heard what Dean said, he slashed through the air with the First Blade furiously, with a cry of rage that Cain himself would envy.

Dean sliced at Castiel's chest, leaving a wound that would kill him in moments if he were fully mortal.

Cas's screams filled the dungeon, echoing from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.

Dean stood in front of him, heaving from the restraint he'd shown, the Blade dripping with Castiel's blood.

Cas tried to quiet his cries of pain. He closed his eyes-not because he didn't want to see what was coming next, but because he didn't want to see Dean doing this to him. That would've been more painful than the wide gash on his chest.

It spewed scarlet red, spattering onto the ground below. He could hear the drops hitting the floor. He felt his shirt and trenchcoat dampen with warmth, the deep red stain blooming out in all directions.

"Cas, if there has _ever_ been a time to pray, this is it!" Dean snarled at him. He still stood before him, arm shaking and out of breath, attempting to restrain himself.

Then it hit him. Castiel hadn't prayed since...he couldn't remember when.

 _"God, if you're even there anymore, I need you. Dean needs you. C'mon, coward! Help me, **just this once!** "_

Cas prayed. He wasn't sure if God would answer him (or if He was listening at all), but at least he could take comfort in the fictitious idea that help was coming. But, he knew better.

"Did ya pray, Angel? We good?" Dean asked impatiently.

Cas jumped at his loud voice, snapping back to reality. God-damnit, this was real.

Castiel found the courage within him to lift his head, and look Dean in the eyes again. His breathing was shallow, and could barely see past the swollen lids over his blue eyes.

Dark brown blood was drying on his lips, constantly being covered by a new layer of crimson.

"Dean," Cas breathed. His assailant met his eyes. "Dean, it's going to be okay-" He coughed, trying to get the words out.

His body was betraying him, and he didn't have much time. He needed to say it. He'd practiced it over and over in his mind, countless times. Why was his tongue failing him now?

Cas cleared his throat, and found Dean's eyes again, who was impatiently waiting on him to finish his sentence.

 _"Get it over with._ " Cas told himself.

"I love you, Dean," A breath of relief left Castiel's body as if a toxic weight had been lifted from him. He kept his eyes on Dean, who's interest seemed to pique.

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking more lost than ever.

"I love you, Dean," Cas repeated. "I can save you if you let me try, but I know you won't. _You're too damn stubborn_ ,"

He felt like he was chasing his own words.

"I've failed you so many times, and I'm sorry. I've been trying to understand what this meant, why I can't stand to see you suffer...and that's what it is, Dean. It's love-and you know what it feels like. Maybe not the way I do, maybe not today, but I know you've felt it before..."

Cas caught his breath.

"...and that's why I can't walk away."

 _"I did it. I finally told him."_ Cas thought.

Dean looked confused, and took a few steps back in what Cas could only assume was shock. He continued to hold his breath halfway, gritting his teeth through the pain that emanated through him.

Dean started to say something, then put his hand to his furrowed brow. He shook his head, and starkly began to laugh. Not a laugh of relief, not a maniacal laugh...just a laugh.

Cas closed his eyes, hanging his head in defeat.

He was suddenly terrified of what Dean could do. His honest words had no effect on him, and now he was probably going to end him. Just like that. He wasn't going to ask Dean to stop, or not to hurt him anymore.

Dean taught him begging was for cowards; and he'd sooner be killed than having the only human he cared about seeing him as a coward.

"Ya know Cas, that would've been nice to know. A _year_ ago," Dean announced. Purposefully, he retraced his steps closer to Castiel.

"Hell, I've felt it. Maybe I still do. Jesus, maybe that's why I've chased your crazy feathered ass halfway around the world countless fuckin' times. But...who knows? 'Coulda been love, 'coulda been bullshit." Dean said.

His words were like a knife in Cas's wind-pipe; he'd never felt that before, but he imagined this was pretty close. He could only focus on trying to stay awake. He knew he had to keep his eyes on Dean, listen to him.

They'd done so much together-Hell, they stopped the fucking apocalypse for God's sake! He only prayed that help would come soon.

Dean leaned down toward Cas, his face inches away. Cas could feel his breath on his own. He could almost taste the cheap whiskey Dean enjoyed so much the night before. He didn't want to look away from the green orbs that filled his view.

Dean lifted his left hand and held Castiel's face with it. Cas closed his eyes at the comforting sensation, letting Dean's hand support his head a bit.

At the feeling of Dean being so close, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he was angry.

" _We could've had this_ ," he thought, " _If only Dean hadn't been so stubborn_."

"Hey!" Dean demanded, waking Cas from the daze he'd slipped into. The blood loss was finally taking its toll on him.

Dean still held his face with his hand, his face still inches from his, and he stared into his eyes once more.

"Cas, God's not here." Dean said, staring into the blue eyes before him.

"You're nothing but a failure in a trenchcoat."

Castiel's face fell. The last shred of hope he had for Dean was tarnished. His head was whirling, his surroundings blurred together. He felt as if he were falling asleep.

 _"God is gone, and so is Dean_."

As the weight of Castiel's near-unconscious body fell on him, Dean let go of him, retrieving the key to the spelled cuffs from his pocket. Freeing his hands, he guided Cas's limp body to the floor, and stood over him for a brief moment.

Then, without hesitation, Dean bent down and plunged the First Blade through Castiel's core.

An explosion of white-hot, blue light shot up and out, escaping the dying Angel. The lancelike rays of pure grace and energy emanated throughout the dungeon. It was the most terrifying expense of incandescent light that Dean had ever seen; the horrific holy flash nearly blinding him.

The single dusty light bulb overhead burst, and a sheet of shattered glass sprinkled the two of them like snow.

The door to the corridor was blown off its creaky hinges, and the lights that had been trapped by the dungeon's confines would have bore a hole right through the ceiling, had they not been underground.

The blue and white lights were fading from Castiel quickly.

And although Dean couldn't hear it, the shrill cries and shrieks of thousands of Angels rang out, Cas's brothers and sisters, flooding 'Angel Radio': **"Castiel is dead."**


	3. No One Ever Said It'd Be So Hard

Dean blinked away the black static-like dots that clouded his vision from the blinding lights that were expelled by Castiel. The dungeon was darkened now, lit only by the lights flooding through from the hallway outside. The door that previously separated the two had been fractured, blown off it's hinges by the might and potency of Castiel's demise.

Dean's face was burning. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It felt surreal. He looked down, eyeing the First Blade that he gripped so tightly in his hand. It was clad in blood. His pulse accelerated.

Underneath the weight of the Blade, before him lay the still and bloody form of Castiel. His eyes were devoid of life and soul, and Dean knew that he was gone. His eyes widened in horror and disbelief, and dropped the First Blade as if it scared heart was pounding in his chest, and his head was throbbing.

All that Dean could hear was the sound of his own breath, and the 'drip, drop...drip, drop', of Castiel's blood, now cold as it flowed toward the circular drain in the floor, trickling into it. Hissing a breath through clenched teeth, he felt his throat dry and tighten with panic.

Dean knew whatever rage-filled state he'd been in caused him to remembered the pounding in his head, the Mark of Cain's burning wrath in his arm, then losing remembered being angry, furious.

He remembered Cas pouring his heart out to him, and only saying terrible things back.

But Dean didn't remember killing him.

Making things worse, Dean noticed that his nose was over powered by the light fragrance of singed feathers, and the sweet metallic pungency of the Angel's blood. There was a black residue that outlined Castiel's wings on the floor. The grotesque reminder that an Angel died in the bunker's dungeon would be etched on the concrete forever. Cas's wings had been greater and more beautiful than he'd remembered. He stopped short at admiring them, due to the sick feeling he felt in his stomach at the reality that he caused all of this. He killed his best fucking friend...and they could've been more.

" _What the hell have I done_?!" He cried out, but no one heard him. It felt like a bad dream. No, it felt like a god damned nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

"CAS!" He cried out, holding the deceased Angel's cold face in his hands. His hair disheveled by the mayhem, his eyes closed, mouth frozen and expressionless.

"C'mon, Cas, wake up damn it! Wake up!" Nothing. "No no no, _no no no_...!" Dean held onto Castiel's tan trenchcoat for dear life. That very coat had been through so much with them, seen so many hard times, but always pulled through. He remembered how he'd purposefully saved it a few years back, after watching Cas wade into the river, possessed by the Leviathan. He had pulled it out of the water, folded and carefully placed it in the trunk of the Impala. Dean remembered the loss he felt, the hole in his life while Cas was gone.

How the hell could he do this without him?

As the things he'd done began to sink in, a tear broke free, followed by the unbroken flow of many others to come.

"Damnit, Cas," He sobbed. "I-I didn't mean to. I didn't know what I was doing..." Dean cleared the tears from his eyes.

"I hope wherever you are you can hear me. I would've followed you anywhere, Cas. Jesus, I would've dropped everything," Dean shifted Cas closer to himself, needing to bear the burden of his broken vessel.

"I can't fix this, I don't know how-" Another sob broke Dean's voice. "I love you...I should've told you that- **SO many times**..."

"But we'll get a chance to say it to each other. Face to face. I swear to God, we will. If I have to set _the fucking world on fire_ , I'll do it. You're just-you're all I have,"

He paused, bringing Castiel's face closer to his own. Closing the gap, he placed a soft, but consequential kiss on his lips. The muscles in his chin trembled, wishing that Cas were able to reciprocate their very first embrace.

... **I love you**."

Dean sat on the floor for what seemed like forever-Castiel's head in his lap, holding one of his blood-stained lifeless hands in his own. Then, as if he thought he'd shatter like a china doll, he placed Cas softly back on the ground, finding the strength to stand himself.

Brought out of his daze, Dean heard his phone ringing in his pocket. He reached down and without pulling it out, he silenced it. He knew it was his brother. He couldn't face Sam. Not now-not after what he'd done. The eldest Winchester also knew he couldn't keep his promise to Cas to see him again if he kept the Mark of Cain. Dean only knew of one thing that might- or might not -make it go away.

His eyes found the First Blade where he'd dropped it next to Cas. He cautiously approached it, then picked it up. The weight of it in his hand's calmed him, surprisingly. An ease creeped across Dean's face.

He knew exactly what he had to do.

Staring down at Cas with love, he smiled. It'd been one hell of a ride...but he knew he'd keep his promise. He'd see him again.

"'Till then, Angel." Dean nodded down to him once more, then drove the First Blade through his own heart. It was a welcomed pain; whisking him away from this hell that was his reality.

" _It's over,_ " Dean's eyes closed. " _It's finally over._ "

* * *

 _"Emotional pain has a biological purpose, to teach, to educate us away from unhealthy patterns and relationships. I've been pushing back against pain for so long, medicating with friendship, with romantic notions, yet it returns in my weaker moments, devastating my mind. To keep repeating this pattern will only prolong it, keep the pain underneath when in truth it must rise. Today I make a new choice, one to welcome it as a friend, to let it teach me what it must. Though I will be weaker in the moment, I will be stronger afterward. I will let it in through my doors, sit at my table, talk until I am wiser even though each word is a silver blade. They say only the strongest of warriors choose their battles. This is mine, let me earn my name."_ **-Unknown**


	4. Come Back And Haunt Me

After a couple of days away, Sam Winchester was en route back to the bunker.

His meeting with the Witch he'd gone to for help with the Mark of Cain had gone nowhere.

He hated leaving Dean alone, so he cautiously asked Castiel to drop in on him. That was the last thing he'd heard from either of them.

Plagued with worry, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The sun was nearly setting now, and the beaten up Honda Civic he'd stolen would only go so fast.

His long legs were cramped from the drive, irritating him almost as much as the many unanswered phone calls he'd made to Castiel and Dean.

Sam reached for his cell phone again and dialed Dean one more time.

" _Ring..."_

" _Ring..."_

" _Ring_ ..."

No answer.

" _Damnit_ , Dean!" He howled in frustration.

Sam was starting to panic, wondering if something happened to them.

Nowadays, it seemed like they had more and more reasons to worry about each other.

"Alright...Crowley. I'll try him."

Sam figured that if something had indeed gone awry, especially if it had to do with the Mark, Crowley would either be in on it or know about it.

He dialed Crowleys number, shaking his head at the notion that he was calling the King of Hell on a cell phone. Crazier things have happened, right?

" _Ring_ "

" _Ring_ "

" _Moose_ ," Crowley's voice came over the phone.

" _Sad to hear from you. But, I assume since you're calling me that something is wrong, and you need Daddy's help...am I right?_ "

Sam pursed his lips in annoyance. "Remind me why we haven't killed you yet?"

" _Because you love to hate me, and I'm more useful alive, bright one. Now tell Daddy who's picking on you?_ "

Sam rolled his eyes. "Cut the bullshit, Crowley. Have you heard anything from Dean?"

" _No, Samantha...are you two in a quarrel again?_ " Crowley snickered.

" _No_ , we're not. I haven't heard from him, or Cas all day. I just figured you might know something. Thanks anyway," Sam began to pull the phone away from his ear to hang up.

" _Wai-wait-Moose?_ " Crowley called.

"Yeah?"

" _How is the squirrel, anyway? The Mark...it's been hard on him._ "

Sam frowned at the question. That's all he'd been worried about lately, about how well Dean was handling the Mark of Cain.

"That's old news Crowley. He's getting worse. I've gotta go."

Sam didn't wait for Crowley to respond, and hung up the phone, tossing it onto the passenger seat.

"Damnit, Dean," Sam said to himself. "You'd better okay."

* * *

Several hours had passed since Dean took his own life.

He had hope that maybe, someone up above would grant he and Castiel another chance. It was a 'Hail Mary' kind of move, but the both of them had died several times before, and it just didn't agree with them; so yes, Dean had reason to be optimistic.

Dean just wanted to tell Cas the truth. He wanted to tell him he loved him, and that he was sorry for being such a disaster.

If they could just go back to the beginning and start all over...

What a dream that would have been.

Ugh. The " _What-if's_ "...

The two broken bodies of Dean and Castiel lay side by side. The dungeon was dark again, and nightfall had crept upon the bunker as the day's tragedies unfolded, one after the other.

Suddenly, Dean's chest began to move up and down slowly. It was a sight that would appear miraculous if anyone had been watching.

His eyes fluttered open, lashes stained with the salt of his tears that had flowed so violently earlier.

Dean's emerald green eyes were now replaced with two onyx black orbs that would frighten even the bravest of men. He laid there for a moment, still, like a robot recomputing who he was.

Finally he stood. The fatal wound from the First Blade he inflicted on himself was gone; though the hole in his shirt, and the blood on his chest and hands remained.

"What the hell..." Dean said to himself.

Dean didn't bother looking around the dungeon at all-not even at Cas.

He headed for the door. Treading down the corridor, he reached his bedroom.

For someone who'd just come back from the dead, you could say he seemed fairly calm.

Stepping into his bedroom, his eyes scanned the wreckage of that morning; broken lamps, mirrors, and broken picture frames littered the floor.

Lifting his feet, he dodged the carnage on the floor. He stood in front of his half-broken mirror blinking his eyes over and over, staring at his reflection.

The third time he blinked, his eyes shine black.

"Huh...well that's new." Dean said to himself sarcastically.

He knew why he was alive. Looking at his arm, he noticed the Mark of Cain still remained.

"Damn, you must really like me, huh?" Dean said, talking to the Mark on his arm as if it were alive.

That was the scary part; he half-expected it to answer him.

In the mirror, Dean noticed his torn t-shirt. His face showed that he remembered the fatal wound he'd given himself earlier.

He pulled the fabric of his shirt off his stomach, holding it out and to gaze through the hole in it.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said, shaking his head. "This was my favorite shirt."

Dean's bemusement trailed off as if he remembered something important he had to do.

He walked to his desk and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from on top of his stereo speakers.

He looked up for a moment in thought, then wrote something down on the paper.

Before he left his bedroom, he smiled at the stereo system.

It was funny to him how he'd came across it. Dean had hustled some poor bastard at a game of pool, and used the cash to buy the system at a local pawn shop.

Dean flipped through the discs laying out. He grinned at the disc he'd chosen in his hand. He slid it in pushing the play button on repeat, turning it all the way up.

With a mission in his mind, he finally left his room.

* * *

Standing in the dungeon again, he was reaping the view.

" _Shit!_ I made a mess in here, too!" Dean laughed.

Just then, Dean's phone rang. Taking it out, he saw it was Sam who was calling. He rolled his eyes and declined it.

"Damn, Sammy. Clingy much?" Dean said aloud as he sorted through his phone notifications.

"31 missed calls, 42 text messages, 8 voicemails...and a partridge in a friggin' pear tree." His voice trailed off in boredom.

Dean took a quick moment to send a vague text message to Crowley.

" _We need to talk._ _ **Now.**_ " He wrote, then pocketed his phone again.

Before he could be distracted further, he stood over Cas, and carelessly let the piece of paper he'd written on sail down, landing on top of his chest.

Then, Dean crouched down and stoically ran the tips of his fingers down one of the lapels on Castiel's bloody trenchcoat.

He maneuvered Cas's stark body out of the coat, and with inscrutable expression, he folded it.

Hoisting himself from his position next to Cas, Dean tucked the maimed trenchcoat beneath his arm.

Dean began searching his pocket for his car keys. They jingled as he fished them out.

He found the First Blade right where he'd awakened on the floor next to Cas.

Picking it up, an egoistic smile radiated on his face from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, his lips curling with triumph.

His eyes bore into the First Blade, admiring the way the dry blood's red contrast made it gleam.

" **Let's go have some fun**."


	5. Take Me Back To The Start

Sam was only about ten minutes away from the bunker.

His mind had been racing the entire drive home, worrying about why neither Cas or Dean had answered any of his phone calls or messages.

He was gripping the steering wheel with one hand, holding his cell phone in the other. He was hoping it would ring, and that it would be his brother. But it never rang.

His expression was wrenched with anxiety, and his right foot was trembling from pressing the gas pedal so hard for hours on end.

In what seemed like the longest ten minutes ever, he finally halted the old Honda he had 'borrowed' in front of the bunker. Barely giving himself time to put it in park, he was running for the steel front door.

It creaked open slowly, and he held his breath as he stepped onto the landing.

Looking around the main room as he descended the stairs, nothing looked amiss, except for the music he could hear playing. It resonated throughout the bunker like it was alive.

 _*"Hey, Jude, don't make it bad_

 _Take a sad song and make it better_

 _Remember to let her into your heart_

 _Then you can start to make it better..."*  
_

It sounded like it was coming from his brother's bedroom.

"Dean?!" Sam called. "Cas?!"

He walked further into the main room in the bunker that held the enormous mapped table. Closing in on the source of the music, he could hear the song- it was one he'd heard before.

 _*"...Hey, Jude, don't be afraid_

 _You were made to go out and get her_

 _The minute you let her under your skin_

 _Then you begin to make it better..."*_

Sam called his brother's name again, turning down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Dean, where are you?!"

He finally turned the corner, discovering the open door to Dean's room, and the disarray that lay behind it.

"What the hell...?" Sam said to himself.

He was wondering if Dean had done this himself, or if someone else had. There weren't signs of a typical struggle; Sam had seen many of them, but to him it only looked like someone had thrown a god-awful temper tantrum. No blood, no broken doors. Just a mess, and the blaring stereo that had been left on.

 _*"...And anytime you feel the pain_

 _Hey, Jude, refrain_

 _Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

 _For well you know that it's a fool_

 _Who plays it cool_

 _By making his world a little colder..."*  
_

Sam ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, trying to remember to breathe.

He kicked a broken lamp shade out of his path, then started for the hallway.

" _Okay...Look in the garage Sam. He's probably in there._ " Sam thought to himself, but knew he was probably wrong. Nothing here felt normal to him, and unfortunately the hunter in him was usually right.

Sam rushed down the corridor, opening every door and closet on his way to the garage to make sure he didn't miss anything. He had to find Dean and Cas.

Sam was almost there, when he came to a sudden halt in the hallway.

In front of him he saw the door to the dungeon in pieces, strewn about the floor like confetti. It reminded him of the aftermath of an explosion, and his heart skipped a beat.

Rushing forward, he stepped over the pieces of the door and through the doorway to the Dungeon.

"Dean!" Sam was praying for an answer as he howled into the dark dungeon. He almost wish he'd turned the damn stereo off so he could hear.

 _*"...Hey, Jude, don't let me down_

 _You have found her, now go and get her_

 _Remember to let her into your heart_

 _Then you can start to make it better..."*_

Flipping the emergency light switch on the wall to his right, the dungeon illuminated.

Among the debris and shattered glass that rested on the floor laid Castiel, and around his body on the concrete were the marks that his wings had left behind when he died.

Sam's breathed hitched, and a lump formed in his throat as he saw Cas's limp form.

" _Cas_!" He ran to Castiel's side, hoping he was wrong. He couldn't be gone...not Cas.

"No! Cas...Hey! Wake up!" Sam was shaking him, compulsively listening and feeling for a heartbeat. His face pale, and his eyes bereft of any signs of life.

Sam's eyes were filled with tears; one his closest friends was dead, and his brother probably was too. Whatever had killed Cas had to have been strong.

 _*"...So let it out and let it in_

 _Hey, Jude, begin_

 _You're waiting for someone to perform with_

 _And don't you know that it's just you,_

 _Hey, Jude, you'll do_

 _The movement you need is on your shoulder..."*_

He fell back from his knees, sitting on the floor next to his deceased friend.

Through his blurred vision, Sam noticed the piece of paper on top of Castiel. Wiping the tears from his face, he picked it up.

It was Dean's handwriting: " **Sammy, let me go**." It read.

His heart dropped, and his stomach felt sick.

" _No no no no._.." His mind was racing.

" _Dean didn't do this. He couldn't have...there's no way..._ " Sam thought.

He willed his trembling hands to pull his cell phone from his pocket, his brow furrowed and his free hand clenched into a fist in frustration.

He let it ring all the way until Dean's voicemail answered. Sam didn't want to say anything he would regret, knowing his brother wasn't in his right mind because of the Mark. He hung up the phone, and made himself get up.

Sam looked down at Cas.

" _The Mark...it did this. Dean lost it. And I was too late._ " He thought, and hoped to God he was wrong-mostly for his brother's sake. Sam knew Dean would never be able to live with himself with Castiel's blood on his hands.

Sam exhaled a breath that he felt like he'd been holding forever. He grabbed his head with both hands in despair, tears still flowing freely and unbroken.

"I should have been here." His voice quivered as his emotions swayed between a state of anguish and fury.

 _*"...Hey, Jude, don't make it bad_

 _Take a sad song and make it better_

 _Remember to let her under your skin_

 _Then you'll begin to make it better,_

 _better, better, better, better..."*_

"I'm gonna find Dean, Cas...and we're gonna fix this. **I swear.** " Sam said to Cas.

And although Castiel didn't hear what Sam said, someone else did.

* * *

Castiel opened his eyes.

Much the same as being born, a bright blinding light was all he comprehend for a moment.

As his eyes adjusted, he discerned that he was outside. It was a remarkable sight-so beautiful that he hadn't noticed his mouth hanging open.

Cas was standing in a flat, bright green pasture; the sun looked to be at high noon shining bright, and the many trees and flowers were in bloom.

Birds were singing, and the sky above was blue and cloudless. He felt like he was standing in a painting.

Behind him about a quarter of a mile stood an old, sturdy looking farm house. Looking to the East, there was nothing but taller green grass and the edge of densely covered woods.

He paused admiring the scenery. He remembered what had happened with Dean. Putting his hands on his stomach and looking down at his torso, he saw that his wounds were gone and his clothes like brand new. Cas felt of his face-no cuts, bruises, or blood. It was like his beating and untimely end hadn't happened.

But something wasn't right. Cas knew he should be dead. He recalled what dying felt like, his heartbeat had slowed down then ceased, and had endured his Grace and soul being torn from his human vessel.

He knew that Dean killed him, but that he wasn't himself when he did it. More significantly, Castiel felt no anger...he could still feel his love for Dean, and was only grateful that he got to tell him.

Just then coming from the West, Cas heard a voice calling his name.

"Cas! Over here!"

Cas squinted at the sun in his eyes, and could make out a figure, a man-waving to him across the field, and he could see he was wearing some kind of a white suit with a mask that covered his face. The man was standing underneath a massive Oak tree, in front of a large rectangular box.

Cas started walking in the man's direction.

"Hurry up! I don't have all day, ya know." The man called as Cas quickened his pace, cautiously closing the distance across the field between himself and the strange man.

" _His voice...I know him._ " Cas thought.

With the giant Oak close enough to block the sun's blinding rays, Castiel could see that the man wasn't wearing just any kind of suit-he was wearing a beekeeper's suit. The box in front of him was a large beehive, buzzing with life.

Cas was within feet of the man now, and could only stare at him, watching him collect honeycomb after honeycomb.

"Aren't you gonna ask who I am? Or why you're here?" The man asked, concentrating on his work at hand.

Cas licked his lips, knowing he must be crazy.

"You're the Prophet...Chuck. Chuck Shurley..." Cas said. "...but-but why are you here? Why are _we_ here?"

His identity exposed, the man gracefully removed his mask. It was indeed the Prophet Chuck Shurley.

"You ask a lot of questions, Castiel. You always have, though." Chuck replied.

Cas looked down at the grass beneath his feet. "You-you aren't a Prophet, are you?" He asked.

Chuck laughed. "Again with the questions!" He smiled at Cas.

"No, Castiel. You catch on quick...I'm not a Prophet, no." Chuck said, trailing off, getting distracted by the task of closing the door to the beehive.

"Then, what-or _who_ -are you?" Castiel dared to ask.

Chuck latched the door shut and stood up straight.

"I'm God." He replied, and simply smiled. When Castiel didn't say anything out of sheer shock, Chuck (God) continued.

"I know, I know...I had you fooled for a long time there, didn't I?" He chuckled.  
"Truth is, I just really loved being...human. It's refreshing, ya know?"

Cas tilted his head in acknowledgement and awe.

Chuck went on. "I mean...humans are-well, they're complicated. But let me tell you-they are _determined_. They're passionate. They're kind. I mean, I can't believe I made them!"

Chuck gestured at the beehive and shook his head in wonder. "And bees, they're so... _incredible_! Ya know, without bees, Earth couldn't exist. They're much more than meets the eye."

Cas wondered where He was going with this. He wanted to ask Him if Dean was okay, and why he was here. But this was God; he didn't want to disrespect Him.

"I know that expression, Cas." Chuck said as he studied Cas's face.  
"You're sad...I get it. And I know you're wondering what all of this means."

Castiel nodded, deciding to ask his question while Chuck had paused.

"Can you tell me...is Dean alright?" Cas asked.

Chuck broke his gaze with Cas. "No, he's not Cas. I won't lie to you."

Cas closed his eyes in distress and hung his head.

"You really do love him, don't you?"

Looking up at Chuck again Castiel smiled sadly and answered him.  
"Yes... _I do_."

Chuck nodded in approval, with a knowing smile on his face.

"You know, this isn't the first time we've met here Castiel." Chuck said.

Cas gazed at Him with questioning eyes. "What do you mean?"

Chuck sighed. "We've been down this road before. Don't you remember Lucifer imploding you into a billion molecules? I feel like you'd remember something like that..."

"Yes-I certainly remember." Cas replied stoically. "You fixed me, you put me back together."

Chuck smiled and gaped at the sky without worry. "I did, didn't I?" He began tinkering with his beehive again, as if he'd forgotten Cas was there.

Determined for answers, Cas asked another question. "Please Chu- _God_...why am I here? What's the point to all of this?"

Chuck raised His hand in protest smiling. "Please...just call me Chuck. I prefer that name. It's less intense, if you know what I mean."

Cas nodded in reply, shuffling his feet in the grass. Chuck turned and began to remove his gloves and outer beekeeper's suit.

"Do you wanna know what happened the first time I tried out beekeeping?" Chuck asked over his shoulder in a laugh.

Castiel had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. This was pointless, he was getting nowhere. He grew agitated at Chuck's carefree attitude. Dean wasn't alright, and he was dead-or something like that.

"Don't roll your eyes, Cas. I promise I have a point." Chuck said, his back turned to Cas as he stepped out of his suit, revealing a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt that seemed much too plain for a God to be wearing.

Cas stiffened in surprise. "I-I'm sorry. Please continue."

Chuck turned to him and cleared His throat. "Anyways, as I was saying. The first time I tried my hand at beekeeping was a _disaster_! I wound up covered head to toe in bee stings. I'm not kidding, it wasn't pretty!" He chuckled.

"Anyhow, look at me now; I think I'm pretty good at it!" He grinned.

Cas tried to smile back, but couldn't find the heart to.

Chuck's grin faded and He went on. "My point here is Cas, I had to keep trying until I got it right. What's that old saying? ' _Try, try again_ '." His eyes met with Castiel's.

"I'm sorry, I-I'm not following you..." Cas trailed off in query.

Chuck sighed and put His hands on His hips, stepping forward to Cas.

"Cas, you need to try again. Go back to the start, back to the beginning," Chuck stated. "Sometimes you just need a clean slate."

Castiel's full attention was won now, and he gazed at Chuck wanting Him to elaborate.

Chuck cleared His throat. "See, I've learned a couple things from being 'human'..." He held up his finger. "...Number one: **never** mix your liquors-it'll be a bad time if you do. Number two: sometimes, just _sometimes_...it's alright to ask for help." Chuck paused.

"And that's what you did, remember? You prayed to me, Cas. And I want to help you, I do...if you'll let me."

Castiel was confused. "How can you help me? I'm dead, am I not?" He asked matter-of-factly.

Chuck spoke again. "Well, yes and no. You're more in 'limbo' than you are actually _dead_. But, I'm going to help you, Cas. Only because I believe everyone has a destiny-and the Winchesters-Dean, is your's."

Castiel's heart pounded in anticipation. "What do you need to me to do?" He asked.

Chuck shook His head side to side with a happy grin on His face.

"Nothing. I have faith in you. Just try your best, Cas." Chuck sighed. "As the saying goes: ' **Try, try again** '."

With that, Chuck's hand landed on his shoulder, and it all disappeared. The field, the bees, even Chuck had vanished.

* * *

Castiel was standing outside again now, but somewhere, some _time_ completely different. He looked around him, and could see a few select makeshift grave markings in the ground. All the grass was dead, and a circle of trees demolished down to their roots surrounded him like a nuclear bomb had been detonated.

He knew this place, and he knew what date it was.

Cas was standing where he'd risen Dean from Hell, where he had been buried by Bobby and Sam after the Hell Hounds drug him down to the pit.

A mix of emotions flooded over Cas like a wave; he was getting another chance. Finally for once, his cries for help were answered.

His brain was foggy from whatever Chuck had just done to get him here, but he could hear voices. Castiel smiled, because they weren't just any voices; he was hearing 'Angel Radio'.

Through the muffled sounds of the thousands of Angels he was hearing, he closed his eyes to focus, trying to make out what they were saying.

The brightest of smiles, one of relief and love spread across Castiel's face as he heard the Angels talking: " **Dean Winchester is saved.** "


	6. Sequel, anyone?

**Hello!:)**

 **So I have decided, if I have enough people to make happy with a sequel for this, I'll write it. Because I really want to! Who's in?!**


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